


paths in time

by alternatedoom



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantastic Racism, Fic Exchange, Kink Meme, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:22:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alternatedoom/pseuds/alternatedoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kil'jaeden sees through Sargeras' offer, and with Velen at his side, seeks to orchestrate his people's salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	paths in time

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Written for a fic exchange on the kink meme. Prompt was: _Kil'Jaeden/Velen, AU. What if Kil'Jaeden hadn't ignore Velen's advice and run away with him, leaving Archimonde to be the only one accepting Sargearas's offer? How is that would change the history of the Draenei and Azeroth? I imagine that Archimonde wouldn't be as smart or as cunning as Kil'Jaeden, as well as not obsessively pursue the Draenei in the main timeline (or maybe he does, because Sargearas is butthurt of only having 1 eredar joining him). Smut is optional, but Kil'Jaeden's feeling for Velen would have to be romantic._  
>  2\. Several quotes and scene details in the first part straight from Christie Golden's _Rise of the Horde_. The three fanon Draenic terms are from Mendacious-WrymrestAccord's guide on the forums. Translations are in end notes.  
>  3\. Great thanks and warm hugs to silverr for lore advice on all things Kil'jaeden, eredar, Sargeras and more, and to GWoman for proofreading. My fanfic heroes over here <3 All mistakes are 100% mine.   
> 4\. (Mistakes starting with forgetting Socrethar's name used to be Othaar... oops. Fixed.)

_"Take what time you need, but think not on it too long. I am eager to begin our work."_

But rightly or wrongly, Kil'jaeden contemplated all things, large and small, meaningless and significant. 

Kil'jaeden walked through the arcane gardens, rippling with flowers grown brilliant and sparkling with ethereal energies. His mind was heavy with thoughts upon the future, and upon the being fate had drawn to them. 

He heard Velen's call from clear across the city, and he hurried. Archimonde must have been far closer to the center of the city, for he would not speed himself overmuch, and he arrived outside their chamber at the same time Kil'jaeden did.

One look at Velen and he knew something was quite wrong. Velen was pale, his face grave.

"Kil'jaeden," Velen said. Kil'jaeden enjoyed hearing his name from Velen's lips, even at a turbulent time, even when Velen's heart was troubled. "Archimonde," Velen said as the third member of their triumvirate entered behind.

They sat down in their three-pointed circle only for Velen to hesitate. Kil'jaeden waited, for Velen would say what he meant to in his own time. But for an eredar, let alone one of their ruling tier, Archimonde was amusingly impatient. "Why have you called us here?" Archimonde demanded.

"This offer," Velen said. "We must refuse it."

Archimonde sat back, his surprise as obvious as the annoyance and disappointment that immediately followed. "Why?"

"I have had a vision."

Kil'jaeden sat still, making no comment, for he too was surprised. Archimonde made a scornful noise.

"I have had a vision of what will become of us should we accept. We will become man'ari. We will call him Master as we become a force for utter destruction in the universe." Velen's voice was steady, but he was shaken, Kil'jaeden thought. Distraught, even. His tendrils hung limpid from his neck, twitching now and then. 

But Archimonde did not seem to see how grievously Velen was affected, and he frowned darkly in a way that was half a glare. "Man'ari? No, I do not believe it. He earns the honorific he requests with his offerings to us. His power is incomparable, and he has shown us only the merest taste."

Velen waved a hand, frustrated. "He will be our Master, and for all the power he grants us, we will be nothing more than his slaves."

Could it be, then? "An ill dream," Kil'jaeden said finally, testing Velen's waters. "A waking dream."

"No dream." Velen sighed and shook his head sadly. Reaching out, he laid a hand over Kil'jaeden's brow and another over Archimonde's. In spite of his curiosity, Kil'jaeden had a moment to spare for the tingle where their skin met, before the images emanating from Velen's mind overtook him.

Velen's voice came from far away. "He disguises himself for us. See his true form..."

Kil'jaeden saw a rippling bipedal beast-god of stone and fire. Sargeras had been physically bigger than them, but this clawed deity was larger than life. He had huge horns on his head but additional sets curving from his back, and flame wreathed him. He wore an inferno like a mantle over his bestial shoulders, and his crown too was fire. Kil'jaeden lost his breath.

"See the monsters we will become..."

Himself, huge and twisted and muscled into monstrousness, a man'ari without question, his skin flushed an unnatural crimson. His beauty was gone, exaggerated by size, twisted by darkness. His eyes were golden flame, and on his face was cunning used in the pursuit of evil. Archimonde stood massive beside him in the rain of fire and blood vented by the sky, and though Archimonde's skin remained blue in the swollen, enormous growth of their bodies, his face was equally cruel. And Velen behind them, Velen's flesh was a brackish color like a soiled pond. His tendrils writhed like snakes in the grip of pain or madness, and in his eyes a dark void lit with shimmering green fire.

Kil'jaeden yanked his head away, an ungraceful, desperate movement to escape the terrible images Velen fed along to them. He maintained their connection overall, but severed the deep closeness that enabled him to see what Velen prophesied. Breathing hard, he stared at Velen accusingly before lowering his gaze. Velen took no benefit from the reproving look, for his eyes were still closed as he transmitted to Archimonde, but Kil'jaeden could not be bitter, for Velen's face was writ with sorrow and horror and fear.

For several seconds Kil'jaeden sat without moving, modulating his inhalations and getting the reflex back under his control. Archimonde continued to sit in stillness with Velen's hand against his forehead, continuing to see whatever Velen showed him now.

Perhaps Kil'jaeden should not have pulled away so soon. Though he had, he decided, seen enough.

He allowed the other two to keep going. Archimonde would need to see more to be convinced, he knew. Even after Kil'jaeden's breath evened out, he remained quiet, waiting.

Archimonde was frowning when he opened his eyes. "This is not a glimpse into the future that we can verify. It is only your hunch."

And as Kil'jaeden looked on Archimonde, he saw it was too late for visions or prophecy, too late to urge caution or to employ reason or wisdom. In Archmonde's eyes Kil'jaeden could see only the awoken gleam of desire, the greed for power, the ego that the three of them had sworn against when they rose high to assume their positions. And resentment there was also, resentment that Velen should try to keep what he craved from him.

And so Kil'jaeden did not wish to reveal his mind. Ever was he careful in all things, and so he looked Velen in the eye. "Archimonde is right," he said smoothly, falsely. "There is no veracity here, only an image in your own mind."

Smiling, he placed a hand on Velen's shoulder. Archimonde might be impetuous, but he was not without his own cunning. They would need to be cautious, lest Archimonde reveal them to Sargeras.

"I do not want to give up what I know to be positive and good and true for what I fear might be unpleasant," Kil'jaeden said to Velen, willing him to understand. "Nor, I think, do you." His words must needs be veiled, so that Archimonde would not know his thoughts, but still he believed Velen would attain a glimmer of comprehension of what lay beneath them. Yet he could tell his double meaning was lost on his friend. Velen bowed his head in seeming acquiescence, but his face closed. Without speaking his mind retreated from the mental connection among them. Archimonde seemed occupied with his thoughts of their ostensibly-decided future, but as he looked away from Velen, Kil'jaeden keenly felt the loss.

*

Ego would lead Archimonde to serve, but ego led Kil'jaeden away from the very same promise. The vow to selflessness had always been the oath Kil'jaeden had most grappled with in dedicating himself in service to the eredar, and he had no interest in being the thrall of a monster-god, not for any power or knowledge in the universe. Kil'jaeden had made up his mind, and so an hour later, he called Velen back to him with a wish of his thoughts. Velen came to his chambers and they stood together under the stars, but Velen's face and heart were masked in a way they were usually open to Kil'jaeden.

He ushered Velen to the couches. Velen sat, but he did not sit comfortably. 

"Velen," Kil'jaeden said, "I have thought upon your vision."

Velen's eyes upon him sharpened, but he only inclined his head, waiting.

Kil'jaeden sighed. "You are sure of what you saw?"

Velen nodded, a single movement, as though he feared to speak. As though he feared even so much as a dip of the chin could give away his intentions. A tiny tremble went through him, Kil'jaeden saw. Velen was afraid. Not simply afraid, but afraid of him, of what he might do.

"I..." he began, and stopped. Ever Kil'jaeden was smooth of speech, but his silver tongue failed him, so stupendous was the thought that Velen feared him, and so momentous too were the words he was about to utter. His next words would change everything, forever and irrevocably. "I am sure you are right. What Sargeras offers us is a poisoned gift."

"What has changed your mind?" Velen asked him softly, though Kil'jaeden heard the relief in the question.

Kil'jaeden stood and leaned on the back of his seat for a moment before beginning to pace. "My mind never changed," he answered. "I thought upon his proposal and came to my own conclusion before we spoke earlier." He strolled a little farther away from Velen, to the window looking out over the capitol. "He offers a dream. I have seen enough of life to know one such as he can offer a dream with his words and bring in his hands a nightmare." Kil'jaeden clenched a fist, looking down at his own hand in its natural, comforting shade of blue. "What he promises is honeyed and perfect. Wisdom and power beyond compare, the chance to do with all the universe as we wish, to explore and unite, to have dominion and untold knowledge, and use our capabilities for good." He heard the sardonic note in his own voice and almost smiled, so innocent and foolish the words sounded coming from his cynical lips. "He comes to us with a warm and open hand, but when his fingers closed, I wondered what he would take from us. And now I know." He turned back to Velen, who sat watching him with stark, nearly reverent relief. Velen looked almost on the verge of tears.

Need was on his face, too. Velen would need him to lead them. Archimonde was the mightiest of them, but though each was an experienced leader, Velen was used to herding his priests, the meekest of lambs. 

Kil'jaeden walked back towards him, his steps slow and methodical. "I wanted to believe, but even before your prophecy, I hardly dared. Your vision cinched my doubts." 

Velen looked at him in dismay. "But you said--"

"I did not wish to show my mind before I thought on the matter fully. And I did not say so earlier tonight because Archimonde will not be swayed from this path. I know this. You know it, too. In the wake of Sargeras' promise, his pride and want drive him, his lust for powers but tasted. Not logic or caution or wisdom."

"Together we could have persuaded him," Velen insisted, and if there was upset in his voice, Kil'jaeden knew it was not at him, but only at having their people forcibly dragged to the brink of a precipice, soon to fall and be shattered one way or another.

"You would be quick to openly defy the warrior caste," Kil'jaeden said calmly. "Yes, we could have tried, and promptly fallen into a civil war when we failed."

Velen hung his head, weary and sorrowful.

"Already tonight he has spoken of it to them," Kil'jaeden said, and Velen's head snapped up, alarmed. No, he had not known. He must have gone into retreat for the night. "And the warriors speak of it to the others. Already our people clamor for this choice."

Velen looked at him in horror.

Kil'jaeden stroked one of his jeweled and banded tendrils with the back of a finger, thinking even now. "Even if we could turn the tide of opinion against this path, I doubt Sargeras will allow us to refuse him."

Velen visibly collected himself. "There is but one choice."

Kil'jaeden nodded. "We must fight. I have thought on this. I have composed two plans, one to wrest the warrior caste from Archimonde, and one to fight Sargeras, and I am working on three additional contingency plans. With Archimonde leading the warrior caste against us, we will need--"

"No," Velen corrected gently, and for Velen to interrupt him as he spoke was so shocking, Kil'jaeden lapsed at once into silence and listened. "We will fight someday," Velen said. "But first, we must flee."

Kil'jaeden looked at him in consternation and disbelief.

Velen only gazed back at him, and Kil'jaeden found his voice. "Flee? He would find us. We occupy the most defensible place from which to stage a direct battle." Certainly their chances would be better if they could hide instead of fighting, but how could they evacuate their entire people? And where could they possibly go where Sargeras could not find them? Velen spoke madness.

"Yes. Flee. Abandon Argus," Velen said softly.

"How? And go where?"

"Abandon everything," Velen said, as if Kil'jaeden were not there. "Yes."

"Not everything," Kil'jaeden said, subsiding, and if he referred to their people, he also referred to the unspoken yearning of his heart. "Never everything."

But Velen did not seem to hear the latter. "I have been... contacted."

"Contacted?"

"By-- a being from the ata'mal crystal," Velen said. 

Kil'jaeden squeezed the back of his chair until his perfect fingers turned white. He knew less and less, it seemed, making all this turmoil and uncertainty worse and worse. " _Another_ unknown being?"

Velen heard the doubt in his voice, or saw it in his face. "Not like Sargeras. A being of pure peace." Velen had no doubt of this being's goodness, that much was clear.

"This does not encourage me," Kil'jaeden said dryly. "From the raft adrift, into the churning sea." He sighed. Still, perhaps this path had merit. Firsthand Sargeras had shown them the limitlessness of his power; even with all Kil'jaeden's planning, he knew their chances of success at arms were mediocre at best. 

"You must trust me," Velen urged, his eyes wide and earnest.

Kil'jaeden snorted. "I cannot. You know I cannot," he said. "We risk too much. I must see for myself."

"Of course," Velen said, and rose. "The being's name is K'ure. It instructed me to begin to gather those whom I trust. Those who hesitate as I did. It has promised to help us escape."

Velen took his hand briefly, and despite himself Kil'jaeden could not help the moment's revel he took in the warm brush of Velen's skin against his. "Those who hesitate as you have," Velen said, his voice soft but full, and though Kil'jaeden was not a creature guided by his heart like Velen was, still he felt the emotion in him surge.

"I thought I would be alone in this," Velen said. "Thank you, my friend." And as Velen placed a hand to Kil'jaeden's forehead to show him this new being offering them salvation, Kil'jaeden felt their severed mind-bond sweep back into place, retying the threads of their precious connection. He hoped this time their link would stay forever.

*

"This is maddening," Kil'jaeden hissed, pacing in the abandoned meeting chamber. K'ure was useless, utterly useless, promising only that the correct time to act would come. "We cannot wait on this creature to devise a plan. If you ask me, it plans nothing. It may even be a servant of Sargeras, deceiving us into sitting quietly in the trap as it snaps closed around us. Velen, we _must_ make our own course of action."

"Patience," Velen counseled. "We must have faith."

Kil'jaeden disagreed, but before he could hatch his plan to subvert the warrior caste from Archmonde's side, the time for escape to which K'ure alluded was named and did come.

And so the eredar were a people broken. Some became man'ari, and others became draenei, and Argus dwindled in the distance behind them before it disappeared. They stole the ata'mal crystal, for it was more rightfully theirs than any man'ari's. K'ure claimed the artifact came from the naaru, and they wanted Velen and Kil'jaeden to have it. Their escape was not narrow or harrowing, but neither were they well-provisioned. However, the naaru provided all that was required to subsist on the living, breathing, Nether-transversing Light-ship they called the Genedar.

Kil'jaeden experienced meeting K'ure in person, and though he was more wary to trust fully than Velen, nevertheless he was not disappointed. He could not deny the naaru were a compelling race of beings, and he wished to understand the deepest roots of their power and knowledge. Gratifyingly, the naaru seemed more than willing to teach. And if they taught more slowly than Kil'jaeden would have liked, it mattered little, for on the Genedar the draenei had nothing but time.

Archimonde did not obviously pursue them in their escape, seemingly indifferent to their departure. Nevertheless, Kil'jaeden was wary of being taken by surprise. They visited numerous other worlds, but Kil'jaeden always insisted they return to their voyage. And so still they had no home. Velen continued to have his visions over the years as they traveled through the stars and the nothingness and the worlds between. The naaru promised them compatriots to join them in arms, that someday they might take on the Legion in battle and emerge victorious. In his visions of the future Velen saw Sargeras' forces take whole planets, destroying creation world by world, and making more man'ari as native races were warped beyond recognition or, more often, simply annihilated.

Kil'jaeden spent nearly a year with Velen perfecting a spell composed of their dual power, fused and focused through the ata'mal crystal. Their spell would hide the draenic life force, their magic, and all traces of their people permanently. In this way they severed the connection between the draenei and the eredar forever. Only then did Kil'jaeden feel comfortable settling down. The next planet they landed upon (crash landed, as it happened, but no matter) he and Velen named Draenor, and though the ship could and would be repaired, still they made plans to stay.

When they first disembarked from the still-smoking Genedar, after making sure the chemical composition of the planet was suited to their needs, Kil'jaeden and Velen led a small group out to inspect the landscape together.

They were discussing which direction to explore when a small insectoid creature buzzed near them, a wasp, Kil'jaeden saw. Pests had long since been altered to be inoffensive or eliminated outright on Argus. Nevertheless, the concept of pest organisms was familiar to him, and already he could recognize many of the creatures on this planet, for the naaru knew much of all the worlds in the Twisting Nether. The wasp landed on the back of Velen's bare hand as he pointed westward.

Velen stilled, allowing the wasp to alight on his skin without challenge, heedless of the sharply pointed, stinging protuberance at the end of its abdomen. With a flick of his fingers, Kil'jaeden incinerated the insect in a tiny flash of arcane magic.

Velen gazed at the dispersing purple dust on his skin, then looked at Kil'jaeden reproachfully. "Why did you do that?"

"It might have stung you," Kil'jaeden said. "As soon as you moved your arm."

"It was but resting a moment. We must revere and protect life, not end it, or we have become draenei for nothing."

"I seek to protect such life that matters," Kil'jaeden said. "We can look forward to having to kill many who were once our kind. Do not weep for a pest, my friend."

"Those who cannot bestow life should consider carefully before taking it," Velen insisted. "Even the lives of small things."

Priestly nonsense, Kil'jaeden thought, but he inclined his chin in deference for Velen's age and position, and also for his unspoken love for his friend's illogically open heart, and together they walked into the grass of their new planet. 

*

They came at last to dwell in peace with the orcs, but the road to that point was rocky. Upon arriving, they kept a wary distance, and they eventually discovered the orcs to be warlike, a savage people divided into clans, jealous of resources and willing to attack with little provocation.

The orcs were far more numerous than the draenei, for though their own kind aged without natural death, the orcs reproduced often and with a rate of gestation as rapid as prey animals. Kil'jaeden had the strong sense Velen and his people would be lost without him, for Velen was so pacifistic he feared to lead in the face of danger, lest he bring needless death unto the orcs. Kil'jaeden did not think the enemy's deaths so needless.

Kil'jaeden cared for Velen, who was everything to him. Yet he could not deny that for all his wisdom and power, Velen was weak in some ways as a leader, struggling with hard choices where Kil'jaeden could be decisive. Kil'jaeden wondered whether Velen would have allowed their people to simply be wiped out had he come here with them alone.

Yet though he'd learned to wield the arcane to bring death and wreak destruction, Kil'jaeden knew he was no fighter. Archimonde had been the warrior. Archimonde's prowess had served him well, yet in the end he lacked the seed of wisdom and intelligence to see through Sargeras' offer. Was Kil'jaeden himself missing the spark that made a warleader? Kil'jaeden doubted himself, and in time he sought out A'dal for counsel. He might have gone to K'ure instead; K'ure was unwell but still capable of conversing. But Velen and K'ure were close as any naaru and draenei could be; they spent hours in closed communion with one another, and Kil'jaeden did not want this topic of discussion to reach Velen. Then too, A'dal seemed the wisest of the naaru, and when Kil'jaeden sought to learn from them, he went to A'dal. 

"A'dal," Kil'jaeden said. "There are an infinity of timelines, are there not?"

"There are," A'dal said/thought.

"Is there a timeline in which Archimonde saw reason, and we escaped as a people unbroken, or defied Sargeras and survived defying him?"

Naaru had no visible eyes, but Kil'jaeden felt A'dal studying him closely. "Time is flowing rivers of water," A'dal said/thought to him. "You should not try to divert the stream from its channel."

Naaru were an astonishing race of beings, and Kil'jaeden had learned worlds from his time with them. But Kil'jaeden had never changed his opinion that they could also be undeniably frustrating and unhelpful. And when he looked upon A'dal, Kil'jaeden did not feel the awe Velen so obviously did.

"You doubt me, and you doubt yourself," A'dal said/thought. "Do not doubt. Be reassured. Trust in the Light. You will rise to meet your challenges, Kil'jaeden."

*

A'dal failed to answer his questions to Kil'jaeden's satisfaction, but the naaru did not err in its judgement.

Once he understood what he was up against, it was nothing for Kil'jaeden to devise plans to outsmart the orcish leaders, same as he mastered the ogre clans and drove back the vicious botani, and after two strong shows of force, the orcs took a turn keeping their distance. And if many orcs died from Kil'jaeden's machinations, truly it was their own barbaric inclinations that led to their demises. After that, when their two peoples met in the world, the orcs treated the draenei with a guarded and militant sort of respect.

But, and Kil'jaeden did not intend this part, from that respect was born interaction on equal footing, and eventually the draenei established some small forms of trade with their strangely shaped neighbors. The orcs were different from them, Velen admitted, a primitive set of peoples without doubt, but with all the same commonalities of needs. Velen insisted this, and Kil'jaeden found to his irritation that it was true. They required food and clean water, and they desired healthy families and lives free to strive for the higher virtues, honor and pleasure, companionship and love. They were noble of thought and sometimes deed, and they honored the spirits of their ancestors. The orcs could be intelligent, if not as knowledgable as the draenei with their ancient history and their new naaru guides. The orcs and the draenei were hardly different at all, Velen pronounced in time, and though the orcs were combative and parochial where the draenei were united and peaceful, they shared an abundant reverence for the harmony of the earth.

If Kil'jaeden was not exactly pleased to integrate with the orcs, neither did he stop the progress. He could be ruthless if he had to, and he would have seen a swift end to it had his people been threatened with either continuing violence or shortages of food or water, but due to their mutual respect for their environment, Draenor had enough resources to sustain both societies in a mutually beneficial condition. And so it was. Small trade turned into greater contact which turned into outright intermixing. A few times, as the generations of children replaced their parents who replaced their grandparents, the orcs with their culture of agitation had to be reminded of why peace with their neighbors was preferable to war, but the lessons took, and over the centuries, centuries that turned into millennia, their two cultures became as comfortable and known and entwined as two lovers. And literally, there were lovers. From intermingling came knowing, from knowing, respect, and from respect love was born for many. Kil'jaeden found this strange but not exactly surprising either, though he did not exactly like it. Desiring life partnership with an orc was not a choice he could personally fathom wanting, but the universe held many odder developments. And it had not been the way of the eredar, and it was not the way of the draenei to question the private choices of another's heart.

Despite the many hundreds of years that passed, the original exiles of Argus did not change overmuch. Kil'jaeden saw no call to put on airs of false modesty; he grew only more beautiful and elegant of form with the passage of time. He did not permit his flesh to age, nor allow his hair to whiten. His face was permanently smooth and fair. His inclinations towards the carnal pleasures faded, but still he enjoyed the subtle power his beauty bestowed upon him.

The ata'mal crystal opened up magical avenues he could never have dreamed. His power grew exponentially, his control over the arcane spriralingly great, but the magnitude of ability did not come at any loss of delicate control. "I think even had we gone with Sargeras, you could not have become more powerful than you are now," Velen said as he watched Kil'jaeden perform a demonstration for a practicing apprentice.

"It matters not," Kil'jaeden said. He knew he was masterful, he did not need to be told, but still it pleased him to have Velen observe him in his element. "That knowledge would have come at a far steeper price. One I was unwilling to pay."

"Do you think it possible for a single person to hold too much power?" Velen asked.

Kil'jaeden frowned, his pleasure at Velen seeing him work draining away. "I believe it depends entirely on the person in question."

"With Archimonde, we had balance," Velen began. "I have been thinking that perhaps we ought replace him."

"With whom? Who can hold up his corner of the triangle with you and I?"

Velen had no answer for that.

"It is because we lost Archimonde that I must be powerful," Kil'jaeden said, vehement in the face of Velen's roundabout criticism. "I am no warrior, but who will guard our people if not I? You? Velen, you wax more powerful too, but you also grow holier and more distant from reality by the day."

Velen showed no reaction but a minute tilting back of his head, but Kil'jaeden knew his words had rung home. It was necessary. He had to get through to Velen. 

"You think of replacing Archimonde, but the triumvirate was the way of the eredar," Kil'jaeden said. "It is no longer our way. Ever will we be equals, and partners, but we do not have a third to round us out, and we do not need a third. I will do what I must to safeguard the draenei. And you must do what you can too. The Light has placed its hand upon you. You can embrace your gift for prophecy without retreating into it! Embrace your power in the Light, and make ready to use it in war."

"No," Velen said. "Power is not something I can embrace for power's sake. I cannot do what you are. I cannot be as you are. You are _becoming_ , Kil'jaeden."

"Not for power's sake. For the sake of the draenei," Kil'jaeden urged, and the stubborn, disturbed veil in Velen's eyes worried at his heart. He reached for Velen with his exhorting thoughts, and he extended a hand. "Come what may, we must be ready. You and I must do it together. We may have eons before they stumble onto us, but Sargeras _will_ come to spread his dominion. Or his servants will."

"I know. But we will persevere," Velen said, and he placed his hand in Kil'jaeden's forgivingly. That was Velen, always forgiving, always hopeful for the future. Though the enemy grew ever more daunting in his dark visions of possible futures, Velen remained elated to have come so far, still alive and with their draenei mostly intact. Velen was sure of their destiny in the Light despite their difficulties, despite the loss of their homeland, the mildly crashed ship, the ill naaru, the warring with the native races, the lives lost, the bizarre interbreeding with the orcs. "And you need not lose yourself to do so."

Kil'jaeden softened further. "I do not lose myself," he said. "Not so long as you are here to ground me. One thing I lack, Velen, and will always be glad for, is your great prudence. I will need it to protect our people."

Velen smiled, though it was a rueful smile. 

"But you must not hold me back," Kil'jaeden warned.

Velen regarded him long and thoughtfully, but at last he bowed his head to Kil'jaeden, and Kil'jaeden did likewise. And so they did not replace the third member of their ruling council. Archimonde was lost to them forever, as Argus was gone, and so the triumvirate was no more. Rather they ruled as a pair, two but a single unit. On all decisions they made it their need to come into agreement. Each influencing the other, their relation was forged in respect and millennia of knowing each other more closely than many of those in formalized love relationships. Velen brought both contentment and longing to his heart. Velen was everything to him but that last step beyond _soran_.

When long ago they became rulers of the eredar they gained great power, but to keep themselves pure of conflict in governing they forsook all things but duty. Families, pair-bonding, the possibility of children, and material possessions beyond what was needed, all were forsaken to move towards the most enlightened condition possible. Such sacrifice was not considered a hardship, for the benefit was substantial and leadership in the triumvirate was an honor unlike any other. But in his heart Kil'jaeden had been breaking tradition for millennia, and he wondered why he wanted more than what he had. For he had Velen in every conceivable way but that one. What more would it offer to exchange words of romantic love? To touch Velen intimately? For ones so old and learned as them, who with age had abandoned the baser passions of the flesh for higher pursuits? Declaring his heart--if his feelings were unreciprocated--would only serve to take them to an uncertain place, unknown and perhaps not improved. Kil'jaeden disliked uncertainty. Revealing himself could damage the preciousness of what they had. And even if Velen felt the same, how would it change anything?

Kil'jaeden didn't know. He knew only that Velen felt nearly a part of him, as though Kil'jaeden were a piece-puzzle, the sort made for children in the long ago, and Velen was a handful of precious missing pieces amidst a thousand, fragments that were the only thing that would bring full satisfaction and completion to the whole. The draenei were not a striving people as many of the lesser races were; knowledge was seductive to them, but it was not the draenic condition to bend into avarice or covet more than what one needed. And any child could look at a puzzle absent a few pieces and discern the intended image without them. 

No, he did not need Velen in that final way. But Kil'jaeden knew what he wanted all the same.

And so one day, and every day, Kil'jaedan came into their council chamber and seated himself. "Velen," he said, and Velen echoed the greeting, his name as he best loved to hear it spoken. 

Velen had retained his dapper appearance even as his beard turned a pure and snowy white. He had learned much from K'ure and the other naaru in their decades of travel, and his venerable wisdom only grew with each additional line, too fine and noble to be named wrinkles. But no matter to that too. Though Velen's form and face pleased him, it was what was inside that Kil'jaeden wanted. Velen's purity. Velen was millennia older than he, but Velen had maintained a determined innocence of soul in a way that made Kil'jaeden's heart yearn for his missing pieces. His completion.

They sat, touching minds but having little now to say to one another personally, so well and truly did they know each other's minds and hearts. Yet Velen did not, he thought, know the depth of his, the blossoming of feelings that had slept and woken and drowsed, secreted behind his mental shields for thousands upon thousands of years. Perhaps all but that one corner of Kil'jaeden's heart was known; Kil'jaeden was unsure. Matters of the soul were not his area of expertise, detached from logic and rationality as they were. But, he thought, if Velen reciprocated his long-smoldering feelings, he would have made it known long ago.

And so they continued in their pleasurable companionship for all the eons that passed them by, and if their friendship was tantalizing and slightly agonizing for Kil'jaeden as it always had been, no one was any the wiser.

Often they spoke of the future, of the day they both knew would come when Sargeras and the man'ari, their own beloved people whose loss Velen still mourned, would come for them. Kil'jaeden had grieved too once upon a time, but the decades passed for them like days, and he saw little point in dwelling on long-past sorrows. Focus was required for his work, training an army of Artificers and always improving upon his own craft, with the eventual goal of victory at arms. From time to time Velen had visions, visions of the Legion, the Burning Legion of demons Sargeras had assembled into his slaves. These he shared with Kil'jaeden, and together they pondered and watched, governed and trained apprentices and prepared and waited.

For there were always matters of life to speak on, issues to decide, disagreements of their people to resolve, tangled threads of problems to unravel and straighten. But the days came at last when they were to make decisions greater than the normal matters that daily came before them. One day, as they sat and spoke, Restalaan and Talgath burst unannounced into their meeting chamber.

"Honored Ones," Restalaan gasped desperately. "The man'ari have come, and they have somehow disabled the Genedar! It is sabotage!"

Kil'jaeden leapt to his feet, but Velen remained sitting, as calm as though the steward had announced the evening meal.

"Prepare for war," Velen said. "High Chieftain Hellscream must be warned at once."

Kil'jaeden made an impatient gesture for Restalaan to wait. "Disabled how?"

Talgath was nearly panting from exertion. "The wires--cut everywhere."

Kil'jaeden glanced at Velen but spoke to Restalaan and Talgath. "Have Grand Anchorite Almonen assemble two hundred of his strongest priests. Spread them throughout the Genedar. Use the Light to repair the damage."

"Yes, Honored One," Restalaan said.

"I should help them," Velen said.

"Yes, I think that would be wise. Go," Kil'jaeden said to their stewards. Not even concentrating, for trivial magics were nothing to him now, he instantaneously created a portal for Restalaan and Talgath. They jumped into it one after the other at a run and were gone.

"The orcs," he said to Velen. "It's been centuries since their last outbreak of violence. Fully a sixth of our people are part-orcish! I thought we had tempered them sufficiently with harmony, but now... have the pure orcs turned against us? Turned to Sargeras?"

"No, I do not think so," Velen said firmly. "And we will need all who will fight alongside us if we fight, and if we can escape, we must take them with us or they will be lost."

"We should leave the pure orcs if they might be traitors. We owe them nothing," Kil'jaeden said. "What is a few million more enemies in the face of the Legion?" Sargeras had enslaved thousands of worlds already, and trillions of demons and twisted peoples danced at his beck and call. Velen had seen them all, and shared the terrible sights with him.

"That I do not know. What I do know," Velen said, "is that life deserves respect, and a few million more allies might mean the difference between victory in battle and failure, to the end of all." 

Kil'jaeden shook his head and opened another portal for Velen to travel straight to the Genedar.

Velen squeezed his forearm before he stepped through.

For three sleepless war-filled nights and days, the draenic and orcish forces together battled the demon armies sent in to weaken them. For every draenic or orcish warrior that was slain, many demons and man'ari leaders fell first, for their people had a passion for goodness and life that the forces of the Burning Legion lacked. But the hordes seemed endless, as though for every demon whose physical body fell lifelessly, staining the sweet loam of Draenor's earth with blood and fel and muck, two more took its place. In the end, if they could not escape, Kil'jaeden knew his people would be overwhelmed. He did not join them, but spent hours in seclusion in the Genedar, preparing himself for the more personal and fearsome battle he knew approached.

Velen came to him, bringing fruit and bread and nuts and a pitcher of fresh water as though he were a steward instead of the greatest prophet of the eredar or the draenei. "A great portal of felfire has opened above the mountains," Velen said. "The commanders will soon come. Will the spells you've prepared stand against them?" Velen sounded as desperate as Kil'jaeden had ever heard him, and he looked exhausted from his work in the Genedar, repairing the damage with the Anchorites.

"I do not know yet," Kil'jaeden said without turning around. In truth, he doubted it. Too soon, Sargeras had come too soon. Another few millennia and he might have found a way to channel the Twisting Nether, to bring final death to the demons in the here and now-- but it was too late for might haves.

Kil'jaeden turned to Velen. Known for his decisiveness, he'd wavered on this for thousands of years. But now his mind was made up. He'd been readying them to fight--readying himself--since before Argus was abandoned. Nothing he did in the next five minutes was likely to make a difference for the outcome of his preparations.

"If we should fail, if we should fall--" His heart pounded, but Kil'jaeden forced himself to speak slowly. "Before we fight this day, I would wish for you to know the depths of my heart where I hold you."

Velen's eyes widened, as if this were the last thing he expected. "You never--" Velen began, and Kil'jaeden saw in Velen's stunned, swiftly recovering eyes that his deepest feelings were reciprocated.

Beyond his wildest dreams, every cell in his body surged, and Kil'jaeden took a step forward (though it felt far more like floating) and laid his hand over Velen's heart. "Had I but known--"

"I thought if you felt--" Velen began.

"You--" Kil'jaeden said accusingly, and their arguments, the rare times they argued, were legendary things of cold fusion, and now was no time for such a quarrel, however short they kept it. Kil'jaeden never finished his sentence, for his lips were on Velen's, and his heart alive and singing as it hammered within him, and he cast aside all the mental barriers that kept what was Kil'jaeden separate from what was Velen. Velen likewise eased his last shields away, and then they were one of mind, a single being sharing all thoughts. Their love was the same.

Kil'jaeden's heart was still pounding. _all this time, all our time..._

_ekliein, you are so beautiful, and powerful, and I am not--_

_you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen--_

_I am so much older, too old--_

_as if that matters to beings like us, after this long--_

_I thought if you felt that way, you would have said something, made it known--_

_you are katethi to me--_

The temptations of the flesh had faded in him, and in Velen likely even more so, but their soft lips met and their tendrils twirled together, and as they kissed their thoughts were one, jumbled, yes, but one all the same. _I am an old fool,_ and who could tell if it was his thought or Velen's?

And so they kissed with reawakened passion and held their merged minds together for an eternity or a few moments, their reflected romantic love an exploding sun that could light a universe for a thousand ages of the world... until Restalaan burst into the room once again, pulling them back to the earthly plane. Startled to be so interrupted, Kil'jaeden jerked back, his normal mental barriers automatically rising as he'd kept them carefully erected for thousands of years, and the reflex closed off the union of thoughts between his heart and Velen's. Snarling as the flow was interrupted, the mesh ripped asunder, he cursed Restalaan to the afterlife and turned on him.

But if Kil'jaeden was startled and angered, Restalaan was mortified into a shocked silence, shamed to have discovered them positioned so intimately, contrite for his complete lack of proper entrance manners. As well he should be ashamed, Kil'jaeden thought viciously. But he would not have done anything but use harsh words, for they would need every pair of hands in the fight to come. Velen stood beside him graciously, remaining serene as he always did.

"H-honored Ones," Restalaan stuttered. Older than Kil'jaeden, he stuttered like a child, and he seemed unable to say more or why he had come.

"What is it?" Kil'jaeden snapped.

"Almonen reports... reports he believes the ship is near to recovery levels, and will be able to fly soon."

"How much more time will they need?" Velen asked at the same time Kil'jaeden said, "How soon?"

"He did not say," Restalaan said, staring from one of them to the other, back and forth.

When Restalaan left, Kil'jaeden turned back to Velen, but their moment had passed. Still he felt the memory of Velen's love washing over him, his beloved, his _soran_ , his _katethi_.

"You do not think we will live," Velen said, his voice shaky.

Ah, he had opened himself to Velen wholly. Lying was pointless. "I do not know," he said, and added absently, "The status report is encouraging." Kil'jaeden began to pace. "We should begin withdrawing fighters, strategically, onto the Genedar. I will contact Othaar. But we should have a back-up plan in case Almonen is mistaken."

"Let me see if the Light will show us the path," Velen said, and without waiting for an answer, Velen picked up the ata'mal crystal and began to commune with it, his eyes closed.

And then came the voice. Velen's eyes flew open.

"Where are you, my brothers?" Archmonde's voice, truly it was Archimonde's voice, but lower, deeper, booming like deafening claps of thunder. "Come out, see me. I have _missed_ you." The voice came from high above them somewhere, as though Archimonde could take to the air and fly, or as though he towered now a mile into the sky.

"Sargeras did not come himself," Archimonde's voice boomed. "But I think he might have, had he known you would be here. You hid yourselves well, Kil'jaeden." The voice grew even louder, and louder meant closer, like extended thunder when the storm moved nearer. "But I have come. I have come, my erstwhile brothers, to welcome you into our fold."

Kil'jaeden thought he had never in his long life heard such evil words.

"Aegwynn," Archimonde boomed, and at first Kil'jaeden thought it was a word of power, but then he realized it was a summons to a servant. "Send them scurrying from their vessel."

When Kil'jaeden flipped the necessary controls to look in every direction outside, through the Genedar's thick, protective clarity-screens, he did not see Archimonde. Rather he saw a monster, still far away in the distance, twisted like an eredar man'ari was twisted, but different. From Velen's visions and the naaru they had learned much of many other races throughout the universe, and Kil'jaeden thought he recognized this origin of this particular man'ari. Humans, their species had been called. Several races from the humans' planet had not been systematically extinguished, but rather taken for the changing, for man'ari.

The creature was bipedal as draenei and orcs, but slender, a giant easily twenty feet tall. Kil'jaeden could not, of course, be sure, but he thought the creature had once been female. She wore white garments and her hair was pale and thick and flowing. Her limbs were proportionally slimmer than theirs, narrower, her hands more delicate. She utterly repulsed him, as the monstrous creatures of the Legion in Velen's visions had repulsed him time after time. Of course, Kil'jaeden was a harsh critic of the aesthetics of all alien life; the orcs too had seemed repugnant when first Kil'jaeden beheld them. But this creature was worse than most. Velen's first visions of the Legion from all those centuries ago were as fresh in his mind as though Velen had passed them along that morning. Her skin was crimson as his own skin in Velen's visions had been crimson, as Sargeras' true, stony flesh was crimson, and Kil'jaeden knew as he looked that she was what he would have been in her place, had he stood at Sargeras' side instead of Velen's, had he become a servant of evil rather than forging his own path across the universe.

She came at the head of an army of monsters, all manner of demons, a hundred different species stomping and running and prancing and crawling behind her as she strode forward. They could not be allowed to reach the Genedar.

Still looking at her, Kil'jaeden called the arcane to him, felt it unfolding inside like an enormous sweep of fabric, a thousand cloaks of power he wore within him. Transferring himself alone outside the Genedar, he tested the enemy's defenses. Extending both hands, he fired a thick bolt of magic at the man'ari Archimonde called _Aegwynn_.

The creature Aegwynn was still far in the distance, and the bolt took time to reach her. When it did she hissed at him, deflecting the attack with a wave of her enormous hand.

Kil'jaeden silently communicated with the Exarch leaders, near and far, who were re-assembling their troops into formation for transport. In an instant he teleported in waiting battalions of Vindicators and Anchorites, Harbingers and Earthcallers behind and around him, their armored lines surrounding a good part of the Genedar. Kil'jaeden's heart burned to see his Artificers in their shining robes, all the thousands upon thousands, many of whom he had trained personally. The regiments began to march forth.

To Kil'jaeden's side, Velen suddenly appeared. Kil'jaeden was taken aback; he'd not known Velen could teleport, but his friend was lit up from within, full of the golden Light he commanded with greater ease than any other draenei. "I will face this Aegwynn," Velen said. "I have seen myself fighting her."

Velen had never mentioned or shared with him any such vision, and he had assumed Velen would remain in the Genedar, but in the clamoring flood of noise and movement as Aegwynn's army collided with the front lines of the draenic army, Kil'jaeden had no time to think on it. If Velen took on Aegwynn, that would leave Archimonde for him to defeat.

He'd always known this day was coming.

Looking over his shoulder the other way, at last seeing Archimonde approaching on the horizon and the demon-army frothing at his heels, identical to Aegwynn's army in its mixed mess of demons and its daunting level of chaos, Kil'jaeden nodded. Velen flashed away on a beam of Light, and Kil'jaeden readied himself to face off against Archimonde as his former brother approached on legs as long and tall and wide as Nagrandian trees.

Archimonde's voice boomed out again. "Kil'jaeden, my brother. You thought you could flee the most powerful force in all the universe? Did you not think I would find you?"

Yes, Kil'jaeden had known Archimonde would someday find them. But Archimonde had known _exactly_ where to find them, down to where on the planet. His location and Velen's in the capital city was no secret, but neither would it be known to one who never set foot upon Draenor, who had no contacts or allies here. _Treachery._ Unless becoming man'ari had changed him more dramatically than Kil'jaeden guessed, Archimonde could never manage a matter like sabotage with any delicacy. He had been a warrior, a mighty one, but relatively straightforward and plain of deed. He would see no need for such subtleties. This finesse, this was someone else's finesse. Perhaps Aegwynn's. She had an intelligent gaze. Perhaps Sargeras himself had taken a hand.

Kil'jaeden barely felt the tingling shield of Light Velen cast over him. Foolish, he thought, Velen should be concentrating on his own fight. Kil'jaeden was more than capable of shielding himself; of the two of them, Velen was in the greater danger.

Kil'jaeden did not wait, but teleported himself straight to Archimonde, taking the advantage of surprise to imprison Archimonde's army behind an expansive, rounded, miles-long shield. He would face Archimonde alone.

Far behind Archimonde's army, he saw a draenei in blindingly shining armor coming over the rise, leading regiments of draenei in a charge against the demons' flank, and he knew the figure to be Talgath. The second half of the army was orcish, and beside Talgath strode the latest High Chieftain Hellscream, still on his feet after three days of fighting. Few among them had found any real rest. 

Archimonde glanced back at Kil'jaeden's shield and laughed, but he stopped laughing when Kil'jaeden threw a bolt of pure arcane energy at his chest, testing him as he had Aegwynn, but more fiercely. The crackling thunderbolt struck home. Archimonde staggered, then righted himself, snarling.

Archimonde lashed out with orbs of molten fel flame as large as Kil'jaeden was. Kil'jaeden added his own power to the Light-shield Velen had cast around him, but Velen's shield held as Kil'jaeden knocked the orbs aside with a thought of his mind.

For hours it seemed they fought, trading magical blows, unable to penetrate the other's defenses, so simply trying to wear the other down. Archimonde set the ground beneath him on blazing green fire, but Kil'jaeden assailed him in return with the mountain-high power of all his arcane magic. And at last he gained the upper hand. Archimonde was wounded, his grunt and the burned and smoking hole in his side attesting to grievous injury.

"You will never defeat us," Kil'jaeden said, and he raised his hands for the final blow.

"You have already lost," Archimonde said, and Kil'jaeden struck down his old friend with a massive bolt of arcane lightning that encompassed his whole enormous body. He could not kill Archimonde here, he knew, but he could banish Archimonde to the Twisting Nether until he could take new physical form. "See you... soon," Archimonde said with a dying breath, and the green felfire in his eyes faded and went out. Kil'jaeden burned him with one final immense arcane strike. He would not be deceived by trickery, and the demon armies and eredar lieutenants were enough of a threat without Archimonde's might added to their own.

The shield of Light Velen had cast around him had long since faded away, and when he glanced over his shoulder, Aegwynn and Velen were nowhere in sight on the horizon. There'd been a sadness in Velen's eyes when he said he would go to combat Aegwynn. _I have seen myself fighting her._ Kil'jaeden whirled. If Velen was lost...

"Velen!" he shouted, but even his arcane-amplified yell was lost in the battle, amidst the howls of attacking demons, whose dying shrieks sounded much the same as their battle cries, and the screams or moaning of wounded or dying draenei. If he heard, Velen did not answer.

Flooding himself with arcane power in his fear, Kil'jaeden blinked from place to place nearby, looking three hundred and sixty degrees with precision as he traveled to the locations Velen and Aegwynn could have pressed each other as they fought. He blinked from the nearby lake to the other side of the Genedar, to the scenic cliffs half a mile off.

There he saw Velen crumpled on the ground on a great cliff, Aegwynn bending over him. Even at a distance Kil'jaeden could see the streaks of blue draenic blood splattered over Velen's face. Snarling without making a sound, Kil'jaeden sent forth a great barrage of sizzling energy. Focused as she was on Velen, Aegwynn did not see the attack coming, but she perhaps heard the crackle of the arcane in the air, for at the last moment she turned. The bolt jolted her shoulder instead of taking her through the heart, but with a cry she fell. Kil'jaeden brought himself instantly past her and to Velen's side.

"Velen," he cried, but Velen lay as if dead. "Velen!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aegwynn slowly getting to her feet.

He spun in time to see a green-glowing clawed hand cutting down towards him, just in time to throw up a sword of pure arcane magic. The blade should have taken her hand off at the wrist but only succeeded in knocking the limb away. Determinedly he kept himself between Aegwynn and Velen, keeping his shields raised and strong. To three sides he had a potentially fatal drop, and he was not about to abandon Velen. He could afford no mistakes now. 

Aegwynn made no attempt to circle him, for his position nearer the cliff's edge was the inferior placement, and with Velen behind him he would not try to circle her. They traded blows both physical and magical, striking swiftly and defending with equal skill. Aegwynn was bigger, stronger, and had foul fel magic at her command, but Kil'jaeden, though no true swordsman, had all the arcane at his disposal as shield, ally, and weapon. The Light too was on his side, and he was defending what was his. Despite her advantages, he pressed her viciously as he could, struggling to hold his position.

But Aegwynn dwarfed him, and despite her wounded shoulder her strength was a storm. Kil'jaeden was weakened from his long duel against Archimonde. It was not long before she began to drive him back, inch by hard-fought inch.

So focused was he on their battle, he almost didn't notice Velen behind him, shambling forward as though a leg were broken. He might not have noticed at all but for Aegwynn looking over his shoulder, and what Kil'jaeden saw as he glanced back nearly stopped his heart. Velen had risen, but his once-vibrant blue eyes were dead and empty, save for flickering, breakthrough pinpricks of felfire.

_Light's mercy. Beloved..._

"Come, Kil'jaeden," Velen said, and he took a step forward and held out a hand. Kil'jaeden saw, with new horror, that Velen's skin was shifting beneath the splatter of his blood, as though writhing worms slithered beneath his once-fine blue skin. Already Velen seemed a shade taller than he had been.

Kil'jaeden backed away. With Velen to one side of him and Aegwynn the other, he could only go backwards away from both. He backed up until a pebble shifted beneath his foot and he realized he was perilously close to the edge of the cliff.

Aegwynn could have crushed or blasted him or knocked him over the edge when he was standing horrorstruck, but as if reveling in his heart's agony, she stopped attacking, allowing Velen to either take the lead in persuading him, or take over the task of attempting to slay him.

"No," Kil'jaeden said finally. He did not shout or raise his voice. "I refuse."

"Join us," Velen said. His voice was wrong, all wrong. The glittering of green flame in his eyes was gathering and growing, burning stronger and fuller now. "And I will not hold you back."

"No," Kil'jaeden answered again, keeping his own voice from shaking. "Farewell, beloved."

Velen reached for him. Kil'jaeden took a last step backwards, and he fell. Above him, he saw Velen with his tainted visage come to the edge and look down.

Kil'jaeden fell, and fell, towards the rocks far below.

His plan was to catch himself up with the arcane, slow his descent, become unseen by even the most powerful and penetrating of eyes.

But now, famed for his decisiveness, looking up towards Velen as he rapidly grew smaller, Kil'jaeden hesitated. 

Against his mind he felt the brush of Othaar's. [ _They are still at work, but the Anchorites believe the Genedar can fly now, Honored One. Whoever sabotaged the ship underestimated it, and the power of the Light. Where are you? Where is the Prophet?_ ]

Still Kil'jaeden fell, and he did not answer Othaar's call.

He could imagine many futures, but two paths. He would not become man'ari. He would not give Archimonde or Sargeras the satisfaction. Not even to be with Velen, for he had seen in Velen's eyes that there was little of him left and present. Kil'jaeden would not be hollowed out in this way. Still his heart was anvil-heavy with his loss, to have had everything so briefly, to have had Velen and lost him, and he could allow himself now to fall to his death. Or a second path: he could land safely, create an illusion of himself dying on the jutting rocks in the sea below. He could pause to recover his spent strength and transport himself back into the thick of the fight above, to gather all his power once more and expend it to teleport all the draenei and all the orcs onto the Genedar. To flee Sargeras again, to live a little longer, to fight a little farther, to seek the plurality of peoples K'ure and A'dal had promised would help them fight Sargeras and win.

To drown in grief and seek death's release from despair, or grasp at life and the torn and futile threads of hope.

He had to choose, and he had to choose now. He would not fall forever. The rocks were sharp below him.

He knew which Velen would have him select. Kil'jaeden was the realist, the pragmatist; Velen had always had more hope than he. In the last hinging fraction of the moment, he wondered whether he could somehow seize Velen, dampen his mind, close his connection to the Legion, and seek to cure him of what Sargeras' servant did to make him man'ari. Velen had not been poisoned long, and the naaru were capable of miracles, Kil'jaeden had seen as much.

Closing his damp eyes, Kil'jaeden made his choice.

**Author's Note:**

>  _soran_ – savior, hero, favored friend, and very rarely, lover  
>  _katethi_ – everything, all things  
>  _ekliein_ \- my desire


End file.
